Drunk Charlie is Fun Charlie
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: Whumptober Day 7: Shackled. Charlie wakes up after a drunken party.


A/N: ...humor? me? nah. im tragically behind but...oh well. Inspired by a conversation I had with the lovely whumpertrooper.

Charlie wasn't a drinker.

He did drink, now and again. A glass of wine with dinner, champagne on new years, half a glass of Scotch with Lawson, a beer while out with the boys.

But he wasn't that sort of drinker. He never had more than one, and he never even got buzzed. There were reasons for that, but even if there was it shouldn't really matter if he did or did not drink; people should respect that.

When he opened his eyes and found himself staring at the bottom of the kitchen table, with a headache, he knew right away that something had gone very, very wrong the night before. He drank when he was a teenager, and even though there were about fifteen years between the last time he drank and now; he knew that he'd been drinking the night before.

Well.

Careful not to hit his head on the table, he clambered, agonizingly, to his hands and knees and hoped to escape to the safety of his bedroom before anyone noticed his lapse in judgment. He scooted out from under the table, taking care not to bump his head, and then stood up. He noticed the feeling of cold tiles under his feet and looked down to see that he was not wearing any shoes. He took stock of his clothes, to make sure he was still wearing them. He was, but his left pant leg was rolled up to the knee, showing off his nicely shaved legs. Weird, seeing how he hadn't shaved his legs before, weirder still that someone had apparently been playing hangman on it in blue pen. His shirt was still on, but fully unbuttoned. Hastily, he did it back up. His hands were uncoordinated and slow.

"Didn't think you had that much party in ya, Detective Sergeant Davis." Says Danny, also from the floor. Charlie looked down, and Danny was indeed on the floor, shackled by a pair of handcuffs to the pipe under the kitchen sink. He also noticed the top of the table, which happened to be covered in empty alcohol bottles, a brown glass pill bottle, several glasses and, curiously, a begonia, still in its terracotta pot.

"Party?" He asked, frowning. He didn't remember a party. He didn't remember a whole lot of anything. He had a few vague, hazy memories of doing shots out of someone's navel, taking a dare from someone to walk in a pair of high heels and maybe getting a kiss, but from who he does not know. See, stuff like this was why he quit drinking.

"How sloshed were you?" Danny asks, laughter on the edge of his voice, "Party! The whole street was here!"

"The whole street?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, young people anyway. I didn't even know that a person could drink as much as you did last night." He says, "You'd probably give Blake a run for his money."

"Oh, I doubt it," Charlie replied, and shut the open fridge.

"Can you set me loose?" Danny asks, eyebrows raised. Charlie looked at his bloody wrist and cringed internally. He knew that the marks from handcuffs could be a bitch to heal.

"Where are the keys to those handcuffs."

"I don't know." Danny said, "I woke up like this."

"Some help you are," Charlie grumbled and looked around for an obvious place a drunk person might keep some keys for handcuffs. None come to mind, but just to be sure he opens some of the many decoratives tins and jars, to no avail.

"Damn." He said, and then turned out his pockets. All he found were a bunch of wrappers for peppermints, two pence and a spare nip for a fountain pen. "Turn out your pockets." Danny did, with one hand and uncovered a ticket stub for a movie two months ago, three cigarettes, a metal lighter engraved with 'Love, Sunday' and a tin full of condoms. No keys.

"Damn," Danny said and put his stuff away. Charlie heard some shuffling in the other room. Looking around the tossed kitchen he was suddenly very apprehensive about going into another room. He found a tea towel by the stove and grabbed it. Then noticed two cricket balls sitting on a tray usually used for fish.

He tucked the towel around Danny's wrist in an effort to stop the bleeding and then said

"Why are their cricket balls in the oven?"

"I was warming them up."

"You were...Forget it." He said and turned the oven off. He left Danny and wandered to the living room to find Mattie and Rose, who was wearing a lampshade on her head.

"We need to find Jean." Mattie hissed,

"We need to tell her Charlie did it." Rose hissed back, "She might not kill him."

"I think we're all dead, but if we pass the buck we might be less dead," Mattie confirmed.

"What are you guys talking about?" He asked, only to be greeted by the two girls turning away from him. Oh-Kay.

"Wasn't Mattie wearing that dress last night?" He asked as he walked past them to check his coat pockets for the keys to the handcuffs. As far as he knew, Rose didn't wear dresses, and if she did then he'd never seen her wear one and he starred at Rose as lot; so he'd know.

...That sounded creepy.

Both girls went bright red and turned to look at him, finally acknowledging his presence. He was jealous of the pair of red-rimmed sunglasses Mattie was wearing. His head was pounding up a storm. They needed to clean this mess up or face Jean's wrath he thought to himself in annoyance.

"Have you seen the keys to Danny's handcuffs?"

In return, he received two head shakes. He left them to plot and moved on through the mess to see if he could find any trace of the keys. He found Bill Hobart asleep in the sunroom, with a large penis drawn on his face in pen. The same pen that had been used to draw hangman on his leg, he thought. He was still asleep, and Charlie didn't feel any need to wake him. He wondered if he could get Rose to take a picture.

How much did they drink last night anyway?

On the back lawn, there is a series of holes dug in the lawn, which is not a great look. Someone had produced a can of kerosene that was used to run the fridge, but thankfully it remained both full and capped. Still no sign of the keys. He left Bill to rest, but picked up a de-potted begonia and put it back into a pot. He hoped it was the right one because he was quite sure Jean didn't even really like other people looking at her begonias let alone touching them.

He heard the front door open and jogged back inside, to face the music. In the doorway stood Blake and Lawson, all four of their combined eyebrows halfway to their hairline as they observed the mess in the hallway. Amy, he noticed, was asleep on the staircase, a rolled joint still sitting unlit between her fingers. They looked at the mess, then to Charlie and the girls.

"You two!" Says Matthew, darkly before notices Charlie and gives him a look. "Charlie."

"It was him." They both say in unison. Matthew gives them a look that clearly says 'I don't believe that for a second'. Blake just shakes his head; he's in the dog house enough as it is.

"This is your problem." He tells them and walks out, Matthew not too far behind. Charlie sank down the wall, his feet kicking up the rug as he went down.

"Wait! I need my handcuff keys!" Danny shouted, but it was too late. They were gone, and Jean was due to be back any minute. With a groan, he grabbed Amy's joint and made his way back to the kitchen, where Danny was still handcuffed to the pipe.

"No luck?"

"Sorry." He sat down on the floor next to him and offered him the joint. "Want to smoke this weed I took off your sister?"

"We're doomed anyway." Danny said, "Might as well make a day of it." He offered Charlie his lighter, which he took.

"I never thought you were much of a drinker."

"I'm not." He replied, "Well, not anymore."

"Why'd you stop? Drunk Charlie is fun Charlie." He made a show of looking around the ruined kitchen. "Oh." Said Danny.

"Yeah." Charlie agreed, "Drunk Charlie sure knows how to get sober Charlie into some deep shit."

"Why'd you start drinking, if you knew you were going to cause all this chaos?" He shrugged, not knowing.

"I don't remember." He admitted.

"Well...Fuck." Danny sighed.

Well, fuck indeed.


End file.
